Bitterness Enthroned
by Laurelindorenae
Summary: Before his death, Darken Rahl left behind a secret, a secret that could mean the rise of the Dark Empire of D'Hara once more, under a new flag. Under a new, more evil, ruler.
1. Introduction

**-1bDisclaimer: **I do not own any of the mentioned characters being:

**Darken Rahl**

**Richard Cypher/Rahl**

**Kahlan Amnell**

**Zeddicus "Zedd" Z'ul Zorander**

or any of the other mentioned places and creations of the mind of Terry Goodkind.

I do not know Lilith as she is the creation of my friend Amberlee Chase

**I DO own Danica, and Jessica, and her sisters, and the basic plot of this fanfiction. Enjoy.**

So many years had passed. She wondered now how she could still be of service to her Mistress. Yet she had been asked for by name. It wasn't the first time in the line of this dynasty that she had been ordered before her commander without so much as an explanation. Truly with her position in the hierarchy, it was to be expected. But it was the first time that she had been called before her new Mistress. The first time in what was so many years now, that she knew not even what the Mistress would look like. When last she saw her, she had been a young girl of only five years. She herself had already been twenty-seven years old.

She had been a young woman. Young and brutal, young and heartless. It had been nearly twenty-years, and she was aged now. Long passed the age of her _Sisters_. Long passed the age that any of her kind had been allowed to reach. At least in the time of the Mistress' father's rule. But who was she to judge? She was still alive, and she had her Queen to thank for that.

But now at forty-seven years old she felt just a little removed from her reality. From what used to be her life. Though she knew she was still strong and still fit, she was passed the prime. Her hair, once dark as the night sky, was as white as the moon. Lines crossed her face. Her harsh nature had aged her passed her years. With her _Sisters _dead, along with her former Lord and Mistress, she felt utterly alone. So close had she been, just the other night, to using her own power against herself. With no others left to give her the Breath of Life and call her back from the Underworld, she would have finally been free.

Yesterday she was loyal to no one, the Lord that had been ruling was not of her making or kind. She saw no use in serving under him, as she had served under his predecessor. Yet the dawn had brought word that the Lord had been taken from his throne by force. The woman who was the rightful heir of her former Master, had taken her place as Queen. By force she knew. But she didn't care. The Queen was just as her father had been in his time, twenty years before.

The Mord'Sith found herself alone in the throne room. Just yesterday the throne room (though she had not graced it in twenty years) had been decorated with symbols of "Goodness" Telling of freedom, justice, and the way of the Sword. Truth, Love, and the way of the Confessor. When brought through the halls, the thought of seeing her Master's throne room designed as such, had turned her stomach. But, stepping into the room she was thrown back those twenty years. All was the same as it had been; as though not one day had passed. The black and red, red and gold banners bearing the mark of the house of Rahl, and the crest of D'Hara hung from the ceilings. The fireplace roared with the life of the dancing flames. One of the few places her Master had ever allowed the use of fire. Magical and other wise. The throne was moved, so it pointed towards the fireplace once more. Tears nearly came to her eyes. But as a Mord'Sith, they never fell. It was as close to the expression of her emotions as she ever came.

She was resigned to waiting for her Mistress to come forth.

From the doorway off to the side of her, she saw the movement of blood red velvet. The hem of a long coat or over dress. Her heart leaped into the throat. She knew it wasn't possible. Not after twenty years. Her Master could not have returned. She knew him to be buried with his, albeit secret, Queen beneath the Peoples Palace in the Crypt of Rahl. Realizing the movement meant that the Queen was coming, she stood to attention.

Her shoulders pulling back in perfect posture; the blood red leather of her uniform moving. Crinkling as it lay upon her as a second skin. Her back ached, but she would never let it show. Long ago she had been trained to take all kinds of pain, to even enjoy if it she could. But this was a pain brought on not by torture or breaking, or the anger of her Master, but by the betrayal of her own body. She knew that she was far too old to continue her way of life. Her _Sisters _had died out; whether by the hands of rogue D'Haran armies who saw no use for the Mord'Sith in the time of peace and prosperity (supposedly brought on by the Seeker's Rule over her Master's lands) or by their own hands. She was the last of her kind. And now she stood waiting in the throne room of the Peoples Palace, awaiting her Queen. She knew she was too old, and knew the Queen must know that as well. She was no Confessor, no Witch-woman. She knew no way of magic to keep her young and strong. She knew only the failing strength of her limbs. Knew only the feeling of emptiness. The only love she had ever held, was for her Master. Just like every other Mord'Sith, though they may have taken their victims as mates. But, that Master lay beneath the Palace, twenty years dead.

Her eyes were closed, and she was very nearly trembling. Waiting for the Queen of D'Hara, the daughter of her Master, to appear before her. And appear she did.

The woman was tall, nearly as tall as her father had been, on her own. Yet she wore black heeled boots up to her knees. Close fitting black leather pants covering her lower half. She wore a red vest, decorated in golden trim, that lay so close to her body that it betrayed her every fine shape. The waistcoat split from its standing collar, down her middle abdomen. The Mord'Sith's eyes fell over the waistcoat. It was the Queen's father's, of that she was sure. The young woman wore a blood red velvet over coat, with belled sleeves. The collar moved over her shoulders, hanging behind her in a large hood. It was lined and trimmed in various designs made of the same gold trim as her vest. Very near was it to a Confessor's garb, and yet it was every inch the coat her father had worn. The coat and vest were both belted into her narrow waist with a black under bust corset. Covering only the middle of her abdomen. Essentially a wide belt. But hanging from her belt and laying lovingly on her left hip was a curved dagger, sheathed in gold. The scabbard inscribed with all manner of magical symbols; telling the spirits to make way. Her father's blade.

Looking up into her face, and into her steely blue eyes, there was no escaping it. She was the very feminine mirror of her father. Darken Rahl. Down to the last detail, she was his match. The hooded raptor gaze which bore through even the strongest of people. The face which belied innocence, kindness, and love. The peaked brow line, whose brows arched gracefully, and ended before the corners of her eyes. The sizeable but dignified nose, leading to her pouting cupid's bow mouth. The long and oval jaw. Even the very colour of her dark tresses matched her father's. The Mord'Sith could not believe her eyes. She fell to her knees, kneeling before the Queen. "Lady Rahl."

The woman lifted her jaw, looking down her nose at the older woman. Arrogant, and well aware that she could control this person in any way she so desired. Ah but she had her own agenda, and despite her outside reputation, she was not her father. Beating the Mord'Sith had little to no interest to her. At least for now. "Danica.", her voice held the same tone of arrogance.

The Mord'Sith immediately looked up to the young Queen. Waiting to be further addressed.

The Queen took her place in the Throne of D'Hara, setting her feet upon the low foot stool. She crossed her booted ankles, still looking down her nose at the older woman before her. "You are the last of your kind.", there was no question about it.

Danica nodded her head; her long white hair still braided from high upon her head in the fashion of the Mord'Sith. "Yes Mistress.", she bowed her head slightly.

"And you were most loyal to Darken Rahl,"

"Your father was my Master, Mistress. I served him to the best of my abilities until the very end, your highness. No one other than yourself grieved for him as hard as I have, your majesty. I promise you that"

"Though you are the only one of your _Sisters _who remain alive. The others, those who were not killed by my brother Richard's men, killed themselves. Apparently out of grief for my father's death. Yet you remained. Why?"

Danica could not help but growl, angered that her grief was even under question. "I remained for you, your Majesty. I remained that I would be of service to you, should you ever need me. Even though I think less of you and your mother than I ever thought of your dear father.", her growl was unmistakeable.

"You are old. Older than any Mord'Sithcthat was ever under my father's rule, my grandfather's rule, my great-grandfather's rule. You get my picture."

";I may be old, but I am strong yet your Majesty. I can serve you one last time should you ask it of me.", Danica could not help but grind her teeth. Even now, twenty years later, Laila grated on her nerves.

Queen Rahl shifted in her wooden throne. Her hands upon the wooden arms as she moved to lean to one side. She unhooked her ankles and placed her booted feet flat upon the floor. Leaning forward towards the seemingly ancient Mord'Sith. "I am asking it of you."

Danica looked up once more. Her grey eyes meeting the steely eyes of her Queen. She shuttered slightly. That had been the last sight she had seen from her Master those twenty years ago. But now was not the time for reminiscing. Now was the time for listening and acting upon her Mistress' orders.

"I want you to kidnap twenty girls between the ages of five and thirteen. From all over the Midlands. You will break them, train them, and kill the ones that cannot be broken. You will make for me another faction of Mord'Sith. You have done it before."

Danica could barely believe her ears. Such a task for once such as her. One Mord'Sith to break so many. It once took many _Sisters _just to break one soul. The only one capable of breaking so many on their own was, well… Darken Rahl. And in that time, the Mord'Sith were young and fervent women. She knew her former strengths, and former cruelties. But she doubted that even she could perform such a miracle. She shook her head, "My Lady, I do not think it possible."

The Queen knit her brows angrily; her father's glare clear upon her features. She simply stared upon the Mord'Sith, waiting for an explanation as to why she thought so.

"Mistress, I am forty-seven years old. A Mord'Sith was never meant to live this long. Thirty-five, at most, before she was to be replaced by another. Another whom she broke for that very reason. To rise and kill her with her own agiel. I am long passed the time of my ending. Now I can capture for you, any of your enemies, and break them. But I simply cannot handle the training of Mord'Sith on my own. I am the last, as you have said. Even if I were to have one more sister to help me, there would be too few of us, for so many young girls. The world has changed since the time of your father. You know this. The girls taken by the Mord'Sith then, where practically abandoned to the temples of your father's greatest threat. Even the Dragon Corp were not as feared as the Mord'Sith. But now the families would come to find their daughters, come to fight for them. There is only one of me, my Lady. It simply cannot be done. I am too old.", though it was the truth, the white hated woman hated admitting to the fact.

The Queen seemed to barely be listening, looking at her perfectly manicured nails. She looked up when Danica had finished speaking, as though entirely weary of the debate. "Danica, do you know how old my father was when he was murdered by my brother, the Seeker?"

The white-haired Mord'Sith frowned at the change of topic. She mouthed for a second, trying to find something to say. Finally she found her voice, "thirty seven, Queen Laila."

"No, Danica. My father was Fifty-one if he was a day."

Danica could not contain the shock the tinted her aged features.

Laila saw the look upon her face, continuing on with her speech. "You see, my father and his wizard, Giller, created a potion that would keep him young. So long as he drank it once every fifteen years. Depending on the concentration of the potion, he could control the age it showed in him. Now unlike my father, I have no need for a Wizard's help. Through me there is enough magic, enough gifts from the side of Darken Rahl, and my mother, Lilith Rahl. One the child of a Wizard and a Witch-woman, the other the child of a Confessor and a man born of a Wizard and Witch-woman. I am powerful beyond my father. I can brew for you the very potion which would have kept my beloved father upon this very throne for all of eternity. Should he have been given the chance. Should my bastard of a brother not ripped him from this world."

Danica frowned, having the vague idea of just where she was being lead. Down the garden path as it were. Her brows were knit together, "Mistress-"

Laila held up her hand, calmly uncrossing her knees and standing once more. She moved about the throne room, walking in front of the Mord'Sith. The Mord'Sith, whom, above all others, she was terrified of as a child. And it wasn't for being a Mord'Sith.

Unlike all the other girls around her age, she had had no fear of being taken by the Sisters of the Agiel. No fear of being tortured and broken. Trained to commit torture and Murder in the name of Lord Rahl. Her father, Darken Rahl, would have protected his child from that fate at all costs. No, the fear that the young Laila had held for this woman, were well founded, and very well deserved. Danica, like her _Sisters_ had sworn to protect their Lord Rahl at any and all costs. Even if it meant his utmost displeasure. Truly, looking back, Laila understood the Mord'Sith's reaction to her and her mother and brother. But, unlike Danica, even she would never have ordered what Danica believed to be the proper way of protecting Rahl.

Twenty years earlier, when Laila had not even reached her fifth year, and Oran was just a baby, less than a year old, Danica had made her views clear. Though she had been her mother's closest friend within the old Temple (when Lilith was yet a Mord'Sith herself) she had turned on her. Like any Mord'Sith. Willing to backstab without second thought for their Master. And their Master was the very cause, though unwittingly so, of this change.

In Danica's eyes, ever since she received word of the birth of the Princess Laila (for though she, her brother and their mother were kept an utter secret, which Rahl took with him to the very tomb, his Mord'Sith of course communicated with one another) she had seen the change. And though she was sworn to protect her Master, and by association, at the very least, his child as well, she was never happy with the plan. Since that day she had seen the change in Master Rahl. Very rarely now did he ever venture to visit the Temples. And though the arrival of her Master was always a rare occasion (for the Temple that Danica had slaughtered her way to the rule of was the furthest to the East) it became all the less likely. There had been a time, and it seemed now so very long ago, and yet it still seemed yesterday, when Darken Rahl took pride in his conquest of the World. The prospect of World Domination under the mark of D'Hara had been from greed and dark thoughts, not thoughts of peace. When Rahl, should his men need him, would go to their side and fight with them. No more. The birth of Laila had changed the Lord, and whether the people realized how lucky they were, or not, it didn't matter.

The birth of Laila had sparked in Darken Rahl, a desire to protect her. No matter the cost to himself. This, in and off itself, undermined the Mord'Sith he kept. The others had been willing to over look it, because as long as Rahl was happy, they were not being beaten and raped. But Danica, the ever harsh and callous Mord'Sith, saw it other wise. To her it was an insult. A threat to her very way of life. She had not been broken by the agiel and by her Master's very hand, just to have him turn his back on her and her Order.

To Danica, Laila and Lilth were the cause of Rahl's change. Though perhaps the outside world saw little if no change in the King of D'Hara, she certainly saw it. His closest advisors and guards, within the Peoples Palace certainly saw it. Where once there was fear for even looking upon the Master when he wished not for it, people were gazing upon him with his daughter unworriedly. Though the killings of servants that did not do as ordered, or allowed even the smallest atrocities in the Tomb of his father, Panis Rahl, continued; it was far from the iron fist that once had ruled the Palace.

To Danica, the variation in Darken Rahl was a direct threat upon his life. Should the Seeker take Lilith and Laila, and then the little bastard Oran, than Rahl was sure to put himself in harms way to save them. That was not something that Danica would allow to happen. No matter the cost to herself, she had been willing to execute the secret Queen, Princess, and Prince. It mattered not to her. What did matter, was that Lord Rahl remained alive. To reach beyond his fortieth year on the throne that his father had borne before him. To have the world be his, and his only. See the people bow to him on mass. Then, once the rule was established, he could take another wife and have more children. Honestly, she didn't see why that was such a bad thought. To her it made utterly perfect sense. Keeping a wife he could tell no one of, and a daughter that literally had all the power in the world over her father, was ridiculous. But then again, what did she ever know about "love"?

Most of all, what made Laila fear Danica, was that her father knew of the Mord'Sith's desire. He had, in all honesty, only just barely managed to protect the Princess from the woman.

When Danica openly threatened the secret Queen, and Lilith had gone into a form of the Con Dar, Rahl had happened to over hear them in the hallway. And marching from his quarters, had cornered the Mord'Sith. The very one he sent for to train the others all over again.

"_You. Stop."_

_Lilith continued her way down the hall, following her daughter's cat. Ignoring her former friend. The Mord'Sith, "I do not take orders from you."_

_Danica growled angrily. Lifting her arm, she brought it down and smacked Lilith with her agiel. "You will listen to me! I am sworn to protect Lord Rahl at **all** costs. You were once sworn to the same Order! Now, I consider you a threat to my Master. I will kill you and your pathetic offspring to protect him if I must."_

"_You will go no where **near** my children! Do you understand me?", Lilith's entire body started to tremor. Shaking beyond her control. Just as her eyes turned blood red. Entering the Con Dar. _

_Laila stood behind her mother's skirts, terrified. Her blue eyes, matching her father's, wide with fear. Clutching the blood red velvets tightly. She whimpered softly, "Mama…"_

_Danica raised her jaw a little, looking down her nose at the Confessor. Her agiel ready to use against the Queen once more. Waiting, she knew that the Confessor would try and lunge at her. It was only a matter of seconds before the Con Dar had completely taken her, and all reason was tossed to the wind. She actually smirked a little. Lilith had always been the one to over react to everything. Crying when their Master had broken her. Begging for mercy when he was called once more to come and break the prospective Mord'Sith. But at that time, she had been kept in a Rada'han. To protect the other Mord'Sith from her. And when the Confessor lunged, she would open up Laila, darling little Laila, to the agiel. And if Danica could move just fast enough to touch the agiel to the child's small chest before she was Confessed, than she had served her Master well. At least in her mind._

_But Darken Rahl had heard their yelling. Their arguing. And, had come flying out of his chambers. Like a Screeling out of the Underworld. Red velvet skirts separating from the red and gold brocade over skirts as he strode quickly. But he stopped instantly. His blue eyes widened, seeing the state of Lilith, just arriving as she moved to lunge at the Mord'Sith. His mouth slightly agape in surprise at what he was seeing. But he saw that Lilith would leave their daughter unprotected. He stepped between Lilith and Laila, blocking of the young child behind his legs. He reached, his hands gripping Lilith's uppermost arms tightly. Firmly. He pulled his Queen away from the Mord'Sith. His hands were still gripping her shoulders strongly. "Lilith, calm yourself! I will take care of her!", He pulled his wife around behind himself to protect Laila. He advanced upon her, and grabbed Danica suddenly by her harshly braided hair. With the iron grip and the strength he contained in one arm, he forced her down to her knees before him. Before her Master. Before her King. Swiftly he gripped the golden handle of the dagger upon his belt. freeing the blade from the scabbard. He pressed the recently whetted edge to the tender flesh of her throat. Where it was meagrely exposed under the chin. Between her jaw and her thick leather collar. Without a second thought, Rahl dragged the blade firmly across her flesh. Not enough to kill her, but enough to scar her and punish her. With his hand still gripping her by the braid, he forced her further down. Throwing her to the stone floor. "If you **ever **come near my wife and children again, I will end your life. And it will be in such a slow way that you will be praying for your death. For it will be a sweet release. You will have never known such pain. Not from your Sisters not from the ones that broke you, and not even from my own hands."_

_Danica could not keep her mouth closed. And though she was wheezing slightly, from both the slashing of her throat (though it was superficial) and the compression caused her to her lungs when he had forced her down, she spat at his feet. "I am your Mord'Sith. I fear nothing. Neither pain, or death. You can do nothing to me. I am only your servant, and have ever been" The blood was trickling from her lips._

_Rahl lifted his own jaw, glaring down his arrogant nose at her. His eyes hooded, glowering upon her as a bird of prey, "I am glad. Because you will see no mercy from me!" He raised his hand high above the opposite shoulder. Bringing it down with all the force in his body. He back handed his Mord'Sith harder than he had ever touched Lilith (and there were times when, had she not known that he did care for her, she would have thought she was at the end of her days). The sudden strike nearly shattered Danica's high cheek bone. It knocked her over backwards from her place on the stone floor, and rendered her unconscious. Leaving her, bleeding, upon the floor._

Laila could easily remember. The Con Dar had left her mother nearly unconscious. Having drained the untrained Confessor's strength. Unlike the Mother Confessor, she had had little to no control over her powers. That was why for so long she had worn the choker of silver, diamonds, and one very large ruby. A Rada'han. And she had worn it willingly. But, only when in the presence of her husband. Fearing that she may leave him confessed.

Laila, before that time, had never known fear of her father. She knew he was King, but she had never understood why the servants were so afraid when in his presence. To her, she was just her father, and she loved him very much. But that day she understood the reason for the servants fear of him. And though she should have been just as afraid of him, she saw what he did after he bloodied the Mord'Sith. Rahl had knelt and picked up Lilith just as she felt from exhaustion. Gathering her up in his arms and holding her close against his breast. She watched as her mother weakly wrapped her arms around her father's neck. Watching as Rahl leaned down and tenderly pressed his forehead to Lilith's. Rahl had, by that point, started to carry Lilith back to their chambers to rest. Laila snapped out of her reverie, and ran to cat up to her parents. Gripping the velvet underskirts of her father's robes, exposed though a slit in the outer skirts. Walking beside him. Close enough that she was nearly against his leg at every step.

Rahl had laid Lilith down into their grand bed carefully, and opened the curtains for her to be exposed to the gorgeous glow of the setting sun. And, as Lilith fell asleep, he turned to Laila. Putting his hands under her arms gently and lifting her up. Holding her on his hip (as her arms went around his neck) as he sat in the window. Stroking her dark hair gently as she laid her cheek against his breast. Listening to his heartbeat. It lulled her to a calm state. Falling asleep in father's embrace.

Laila paused as she paced in the throne room. Closing her eyes. It still hurt her that he was gone. And had been gone for twenty years. Killed just months after that memory. Worst of all, his death had come the night of her fifth birthday. He had promised her that he would return within an hour and would celebrate with her and her mother and brother. Her mother's death came the same night, or perhaps early the next morning. Within a week there was a new Lord Rahl. And it wasn't her father returned from his grave.

She wanted to shed a tear, but knew there was no use. Should the Mord'Sith before her see the same weakness in her, that she apparently saw in her father near the end, than she doubted the woman would take orders from her. She had taken orders from Lord Rahl, not because of the threats he had laid upon her, but because she, in her way, had loved him. Laila suspected that had been half the reason behind her anger and disgust so many years ago.

It was the truth. Danica had been jealous. That Lilith was the one called to Master Rahl's Palace. Why did Lilith get to go? So what if she was a Confessor? She had no real idea of how to use the power. She was next to no good to their Master in any way other than as a Mord'Sith. And even as a Mord'Sith Lilith had been severely lacking. She was never fully broken, she couldn't be. But when Rahl discovered this, the protocol was to destroy the offending Mord'Sith. Instead he had married the bitch, and had birthed horrible little brats with her. And yet Danica was left behind. In the dark Temple. She had hoped and preyed at first that Lilith may live and be alright, and returned to her post with her. But shortly after she saw that that would never happen. Then the word came that the Mord'Sith was bearing the child of Darken Rahl. At first, this did not upset or surprise Danica in anyway . Women on whole (besides the Mord'Sith who served a different purpose) were nothing but breed stock in the eyes of their Master. She had assumed, like she very well should have, that Lilith was just another victim of their Master's anger and desire to sire an heir. Or perhaps the conceiving of the child had been accidental through the rape of Lilith. For punishment. But then the news came that Lilith had birthed a little girl; Danica waited to hear that their Master had murdered the baby girl. She was actually feeling sorry for Lilith should that have happened. But the message never came. At first, she thought perhaps the message just never reached her, and for it, many had paid with their lives. But, then the news came through the grapevine of the other Mord'Sith Temples that Darken Rahl had wed the mother of his bastard child. And Danica was hurt. But unlike any other woman, she did not react with tears and self-sorrow. She reacted by killing her _Sisters _and raising to the top of the food chain in the Temple of the damned. The Mord'Sith that remained, were those that had bowed before her. She was not Queen, but she was as close as she was going to ever be.

Danica knew what Laila was thinking of. Not through any form of magic, but from the look upon her face. Laila was not as stone cold as her father was. Not yet. She could change it. She smirked darkly, with thoughts of how to break the young Queen.

But Laila looked up to the aging woman. "Did you have no compassion for my mother? Could you not have been happy that she would have found something to take her out of the life as a Mord'Sith? The life that you surely hated as well?"

Danica looked down her nose, blankly at her. "Compassion? No. I _**hold **_only anger. She turned your father away from his task. She distracted him and softened him when she bore you and your bastard of a brrother.", her face remained unchanged.

Laila flew off the handle. She stalked towards the Mord'Sith and quickly grabbed the agiel. It wasn't the first time she had handled one; she knew the pain it was going to bring her. She put it threateningly to the forty-seven year old woman's chest. "I **will **kill you!"

Danica cackled, "You will do no such thing. You are the one that asked for me to come. You said yourself that you need my help."

Laila growled. She was right. If she killed Danica, than she would have no Mord'Sith of her own to help her keep order in the Empire. She snarled and gave the weapon back to the woman. Than you will follow orders. I am you Queen!"

Again, Danica laughed mirthlessly. "You may be Queen, but I am not your servant. I am loyal to your father, Darken Rahl. You may be his daughter, but you are not his heir. His heir is the one that Richard Rahl raised himself, along with you. The one that was turned against his linage. Taught to hate the man that lay in the crypts beneath our feet. Rotting. No, Mistress, I am loyal only to your father. For his heir, is dead to me. You are simply a young girl upon a throne, trying to fill shoes that you can never fill.", Danica turned her back, striding with long steps out of the throne room. Her boot heels clicking. Leaving Lady Rahl behind. Not even waiting to see what form of youth that the Queen had thought to offer her.


	2. Chapter One

-1

**Disclaimer: **I STILL only own Laila and the plot

**Chapter One.**

Laila watched in shock as the Mord'Sith turned her back on her. Striding out of the throne room. But quickly the shock turned to anger. Her nose curled up in a snarl as she started to hyperventilate. After a moment, she shrieked loudly in her anger. Another trait of her father's which she seemed to have picked up. Her voice ringing throughout the Peoples Palace. Bouncing off the stone walls. She returned to her throne, seating herself. Sitting there through the rest of the day, brooding, thinking, and plotting. But, mostly her mind was full of thoughts of the past.

At five years old, could she really have said that she knew her father? Laila sighed, putting her face into her hands briefly, before moving her hair from her face. Pushing it back over her shoulders. Keeping her eyes closed and trying to keep her mind calm. She put her left hand upon the arm of the throne; leaning herself to the right. Her right elbow planted upon the carved wood. Her right middle finger rubbing her bottom lip in thought. How dare the Mord'Sith speak to her as though she were still the child hiding behind her father's legs? How dare the Mord'Sith question her? Laila was Queen now, and her Mistress. The Lord was no longer ruling, and no longer the Master of the Sisters of the Agiel. Well…Sister… of the Agiel. Since Danica was the last of the Mord'Sith in all the Midlands and D'Hara. At least as far as they knew.

Laila kept her eyes cast to the fire, burning happily away in the hearth. Dancing joylessly, unaware of her worries. Or, perhaps the flames were mocking her. Magical flame was, after all, the very element that killed Darken Rahl, and Panis Rahl before him. She looked away after a moment. The flames had been hypnotizing her. She did not appreciate it. Though she would no go as far as her father had, by banning the use of fire (except for in certain uses for which he ignored it on the main part). Though, she supposed the King before her had had every right to ban fire. She herself had been lucky in not witnessing the death of her predecessor. But Rahl had not been so lucky.

The young Queen shook her head. She had had enough of this. She was judging herself and her parents. Mainly her father. Had he done what was right? Perhaps if Danica had killed her, her brother, and her mother, her father might still be upon the throne? She was sure that had it not been for herself that the Prophecy would have never come true. But than again, she could do nothing now in order to change it. And though she wished that the world had not progressed the way it hand, she could not honestly say that she would have gone to the Underworld with her family, without the patriarch of the family. Not willingly.

She had had enough, getting up from the throne. She turned on her booted heel quickly. Stealing down into the darkness of the bowels of the Peoples Palace. There was on place that might put her at utter ease. She only hoped that the magical boundary barring her entry, had been destroyed. After all, it had been utterly cruel to keep her out in the first place.

Darkness surrounded her, the air thickening. She could just barely take it. As a child, every time she had made this journey, it had terrified her. Her mother would have said it was alright to fear the dark, but it wasn't the dark that she feared. It was what was dwelling just beyond the veil of the night. But her mother had never been there to comfort her when she had started taking this journey. And never would be. But every day that she followed this path in her childhood, the torches mounted upon the stone walls leaped to life. Crackling and burning brightly away. Leading her through the shadows. Some small spark of magic left behind to guide her. But now there was nothing but gloom and darkness. She held her breath as she moved forward. Half expecting the torches to spark to life. But they remained the blackened sentinels. Nothing giving them life. That in and of itself was a horror to Laila. Breaking her heart. There were none left to care for the hallway. It was full of dust. The last time she had been down here, she had been twelve years old.

Ahead of her was the heavy carved stone door. In her youth the guards kept it open just an inch or two for her. So that she might move it far enough to slip inside. But it had long been sealed up. Cobwebs covered everything. Even the great seal of the Family of Rahl. The double Rs and the Eagle of D'Hara nearly masked by the grime wrought of the years. If she could open the door, she would know if the boundary still existed, or if it had been removed when she ran away.

She gripped both of the enormous Rs, pulling back with her shoulders. The doors creaked, before slowly budging. Opening up gradually. The sound of the groaning stone echoing down the hall. Through the narrow gap which she made for herself, she saw no boundary. Nothing to bar her from entering into the crypt. Laila frowned, almost not trusting her luck. But, so desperately she wanted in, she did not care.

Lady Rahl squeezed her way inside the massive doors. Go ahead and shut on her, it's not like she would have cared. If she died in the crypt, she would have been happy.

But the crypt that greeted her, was not the crypt that she remembered. Once upon a time the entire tomb had been illuminated by a hundred burning torches. Hundreds of blood red roses in golden vases glittered around the circular room. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the memory. How many times had she stepped down the stone stairs into the crypt without Richard or Kahlan knowing? How many times had she just sat between the sarcophagi, for days on end? She couldn't remember the numerous occasions. But Laila's brows knit. Reality was begging for her attention. And opening her eyes she felt her very heart shatter. If not for the tombs of her parents, than for their state of disarray. Long ago the guards had stopped coming; they had done it before she had stopped. And it was not by choice that she had ended her appearances here. But through the forcing of the Seeker, the Mother Confessor, and the Wizard. But all around her was havoc. The torches no longer burned; the golden vases void of red roses. What dead and dried roses remained, were coated in heavy dust. Cobwebs claiming every surface. Even the beautifully carved effigies of the King and his Queen, her loving parents, were long abandoned to time. Draped in spiders' silk and blanketed by thirteen years or more of dust and shattered and dried rose petals. Even the one beautifully and precisely carved marble of the figures of her parents, were pitted, broken, and chipped.

Tears came to her eyes as she approached the marble tombs. The blood red velvet train of her coat dragging along the floor. Picking up crypt dust and cobwebs. Unlike Danica, she had not been broken. Not been beaten enough to remove her of all emotion. That was, of course, the entire reason for her conquest. Anger, hurt, revenge and a desire to do the King and Queen proud. She moved slowly between the two sarcophagi. The two were so close together, barely wide enough for her slender form to fit between them, that at first Laila thought they had been moved. When she was a child the stone carved coffins seemed so very far apart. Like an eternity between her parents. But now, they seemed so close. As though if the stone figures were to uncross their arms, they could reach and take each other's hands. But she realized that there had never been any more space between the caskets; she had been so small that the two feet had felt like an eternity to her. But perhaps not as much as it had for Lilith.

Laila slipped between the sarcophagi, looking over each figure in their turn. Her heart was breaking. The tears started to fall. Once upon a time there would have been someone there to brush those tears away. To kiss her brow and tell her it was alright. To tell her that they were proud of her for being such a strong and brave little girl. And she didn't mean the guards, or even Kahlan. Kahlan had always been suspicious of the little girl. The little girl that was born as a Confessor. Daughter of a Confessor and a great Wizard. But that was besides the point. Kahlan Amnell, Queen in her time, had not been the one to calm her. Nor was it Richard, or even Zeddicus. The person that had always calmed her when she cried within the crypt, was the very reason she was in there. And the very reason that they crypts had been blocked off from her. Darken Rahl had always been able to travel between the world of the living and that of the dead in his life. And nothing barred him from doing so after his death. It was a small blessing. That he could come into the crypts and spend a few precious hours with his little girl. That was why Zeddicus, under the instruction of Queen Kahlan, and nearly against the wishes of Lord Richard Rahl, had blocked the tombs off with a magical boundary. And the reason they fell to the ruin she was now looking upon. A few tears fell to the cob webbing over her mother's carved visage; glittering like diamonds. But the state of the tombs appeared beyond the thirteen years that they had been abandoned. If she had known no better, Laila would have said that her parents lay two thousand years dead and forgotten. But twenty years was a far cry from those two thousand. Laila took a shaking breath, running her hand over the face of her mother's effigy, and then her father's. clearing away the grime and webs that nearly entirely hid them. "Mother….father…", She sank down to her knees, resting on the floor between them.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there. Sitting with her legs curled to her right side, leaning upon the tomb to her left. Her head rested just above the sculpted hip of her father's effigy. Her dark hair spilling over the smooth lines of the cut stone. She cared not for the filth that was filling her dark locks. Simply staring into oblivion. Her mind had latched onto a fact that she had read in her youth. In one of her father's old forgotten books. The book itself may have never even been opened by Darken Rahl, perhaps not since one of the other ancestors. But the fact of what she read, remained. It was to do with the Order of the Confessors. The book stated, while only briefly, that a Confessor that goes to serve one Master, will fall in love with her keeper. As long as she chooses to keep serving him, and perhaps not by his orders, she will fall in love with him. For a Confessor's power is born of love. And the love will be pure, and lasting. It will mimic True Love. But it can never be true. It is merely an illusion brought on by the power of the Confessor. Even she will know no difference. To the Confessor and to the one she loves, it will appear real. But it is nothing but a figment of imagination. That it would die with the Confessor. And it broke Laila's heart all over again. Once it had terrified her, that she should never have her own Prince Charming to love her and be with her forever. But now it angered her. Her mother had claimed always to love her father with all of her heart. Had told Laila that True Love was real, and that it existed between herself and Rahl as proof. But had Lilith known the truth? Better yet, as a former Mord'Sith was the woman even able to love? Laila hated her mother in those dark moments, for lying to her. But more she hated her for lying to her father. Lilith was the reason that he had softened his anger and his grip upon his Palace Staff, and his Mord'Sith. She was now starting to wonder if Danica had been correct those years before. Had she just murdered Lilith, herself, and her brother Oran, perhaps Rahl would still be upon his throne. And if he was not, than the throne would have gone to another heir that another woman would have birthed for him. And he would be in the Underworld now, just as he was, but he would be with Laila. Underworld or not, they would be together.

Laila could not contain the deep growl emitting from within her chest and throat. Her teeth grinding together as the tears fell from her eyes. She tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths through her nose as she closed her eyes.

Somewhere within the tomb must have been a small crack within a wall. Between golden vases perhaps. A quiet and cool draught fluttered around her for a moment; kicking up fallen blackened rose petals. Swirling them at her feet briefly. The gust flittered, touching her damp cheeks. And for a moment the young Queen tensed. But calmed, realizing it must only be a slight breeze. Yet for a moment she could have sworn that she felt two finger tips upon her face. But she must be wrong. She waited, and waited, and waited. To see if she could capture the feeling of the draught upon her face once more. But it never came.

She sat still for hours, waiting. Listening. But she knew in her mind that nothing was going to reach out at her from the darkness. No spirits left in this place to greet her. Her parents were firmly in the Underworld with the Keeper. In one way, the thought put her to ease. In another, it made her very paranoid. Would they be there to greet her if she should die in her conquest? Would she be judge unlike them and deemed too evil to leave the Keeper's side? Would she ever see them again?

It was long passed night fall, in fact it was closer reaching to daylight once more, when she finally moved to leave her parents' tomb. She stood slowly, and looked between the effigies. Sighing sorrowfully, "Goodbye mother, goodbye father", she leaned down and kissed the cool stone lips of each figure gently, before brushing the crypt dust from herself. Walking back up the few short steps towards the door of the once grand crypt. She paused, looking at the door, before turning and glancing over her shoulder. "I will make your resting place shine again. I promise you, if you can hear me." A few more tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Laila lifted her right hand to her face, the back of her hand just passed her wrist positioned under her nose. She sniffed and hurried out. Leaving the burial chamber doors slightly ajar. Walking at a quick, near jogging pace. Needing to get back to the living areas of the Peoples Palace.

By dawn she found herself laying in her old room. The room that had been hers when her parents were alive. The room that adjoined to the King's Chambers. She had not been in this room since she was five years old, and everything was untouched. Oran's cradle was still in the same stately place to the right of her bed, nearer to the foot. Where the sun would filter in gently and let the room glow, without disrupting either sleeping child. But the only access to this room was through the King's Chambers. And while Laila supposed that as Queen her place was to take those rooms, she could not bring herself to touch them. Richard and Kahlan had left them the way they were. Nothing had changed except for a heavy layer of dust, but that could be easily cleaned away. But, of all the things they had done, she supposed that she needed to appreciate the one grace that was bestowed upon her father's Palace by the Seeker and the Mother Confessor. Though, she was tempted to say that it was Kahlan who kept Richard from completely destroying all trace of Darken Rahl. But be that as it may, when they locked up the King's Chambers, they effectively locked her out of her room as well. And away from her father's belongings. Richard and Kahlan had taken to other rooms, and did their best to raise Laila and her younger brother, Oran. Kahlan slept every night with the infant in her arms protectively.

Laila couldn't help but snarl thinking of her younger brother. Wherever he had gone into hiding, she would do what her father had never been successfully able to do with the Seeker, she would flush him out, and destroy him. For though she loved Oran, quite deeply, he was a threat. He did not believe in the ideals that she did. He did not believe that she should have the throne. He did not believe that his father had loved him, though Laila had always tried to show him the good in the deceased King. She had even gone so far as to take the young boy into the Crypts, before they were blocked off from her. Just so he could see his father again. Just so he could meet the father he barely, if at all, remembered. Oran had only been just over a year old when Darken Rahl was destroyed.

Oran had not been open to that experience. When their father had appeared up from the shadows and the smoke of the burning torches, Oran had tried to attack him with a dagger that he carried. Though naturally, the blade had no affect upon the fallen King. Being no more than a spirit. Though, the physical affect may have been non-existent, it had broken the King's heart. He never let Oran or even Laila know of it. But, Laila saw the betrayed and hurt look in his eyes. To him, it was the worst betrayal. And perhaps he was correct. Even the few times which she visited the crypts after the incident (before she was barred from going into the burial chambers) Darken Rahl had never said a word on the subject. But it showed in the lack of light in his eyes. That was the first time since she was very small and first realized that his spirit would come to her in the crypts, that she tried to touch her father. Shaking and scared that she wouldn't be able to, and it would further break both of them, she had slowly stepped forward. Her arms open. When she was no more than a breath from her father she wrapped her arms around his narrow waist, and tried to hug herself close to him. And expecting to be unable, what her arms found was solid and warm. A solid form for her to sidle up against. And she hugged him, crying into his breast. But no matter how hard she fought to listen, she couldn't hear the heart beat. And she knew she never would.

But to her, Oran was a traitor. A creation of the Seeker to destroy that little joy that perhaps their father (and she included her brother, the Seeker, in this) had in his death.

Lady Rahl laid her head upon the old pillow. She didn't care if it was dusty or not, she only cared that it was her bed. She didn't even care that the mattress' length was fit for a child and not a woman of fair stature such as her self. So be it, she would sleep curled into foetal position if she must. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep, and pretend that she was still just a child. But as she settled in under the covers, something kept digging into her side. Her brows knit in her sleep, trying to find the object. Her hand touched something soft. Worn. But, soft. With her grasp upon it, and her brows knit, she withdrew the object from under the covers. Opening her eyes to see it, she gasped slightly. Mr. Floppy-head. The old and nearly worn out stuffed rabbit, whose head hung slightly more to one side, that her father had given her when she was four years old. The stuffed toy rabbit that had been once of his most treasured childhood toys. The only other being -- Laila froze, and got up from the bed. Walking to the dusty old crib. She looked down inside. Sure enough, there was the old teddy bear that she and Oran had had as infants. The old teddy bear that had belonged to Darken Rahl in his childhood. She smiled sadly and held both toys to her breast. Cuddling them. She wouldn't have cared if a set of her guards entered at this moment. She found the two inanimate things that she had loved most as a child. Second only to her mother, who was second only to her father. Laila returned to her bed, laying curled up with the two ragged old toys in her bare arms. Falling into the same fit filled sleep she had had since she was a child.

Danica's chin rested on her hand; her elbow planted on the table. Seated inside sleeping quarters of the Mord'Sith temple. The temple on the very grounds of the Peoples Palace. She was very nearly fully asleep.

But she was suddenly awoken by a heavy wrapping coming from the main doorway of the temple. It echoed down the halls and through the open doorway to her quarters. She growled and got up from the desk; pushing the table out of her way with her gloved hands. She pulled the agiel from her belt, readying her weapon should she need it. She approached the doorway slowly; the heavy knocking, banging, had not yet ceased. And it was begging to grate upon her nerves quite violently. Her heeled boots were clicking against the old stone floor. Keeping her agiel ready in one hand, she wrenched the wooden door open with the iron ring of a handle. What she saw other the other side, however, took her off guard.

There, beyond the doorway, stood a young woman. With fire-red hair. Her hair was long, very long, falling to her belt at least, though it was hard to discern. Her hair was swept up and away from her face, and tightly braided high upon her skull. In the fashion of the Mord'Sith. Everything about this woman screamed Mord'Sith, her leather clothing the colour of blood, the agiel upon her hip, her cold stare. Everything but the woman's stature. She was short, a good five or so inches under Danica's height. Than again, Danica herself should not be one to judge. At 5'6" she was two and a half inches shorter than the minimum height for a Mord'Sith. She was also roughly 70 pounds heavier. Where the other Mord'Sith _Sisters _were tall and slender, Danica had always been short and rather stocky in her build. She was built like the father that her Mistress had made her kill before she was fully broken. But Danica was strong, and thick with muscle. She was strong, and even without the agiel, would have been able to beat most men into submission. But this woman on her doorstep, was shorter than her, and though not as slender as the taller Mord'Sith, was nowhere near the same build as the forty-seven year old Danica. And by the looks of it, she was only twenty years old.

Danica frowned, looking at her bitterly, "And just who do you think you are?"

The woman glared back towards the older Mord'Sith. ";I am Mistress Jessica, daughter of Mistress Francesca. Sister of Mistresses Summer and Laura."

Danica frowned, trying to think. There was only one Mistress Francesca that she could think of. And that was the Mord'Sith she had used as her footstool in _her_ temple. Despite that thought crossing her mind, she kept it from her face. Simply raising a brow as she looked down at the young woman.

But Jessica continued on before Danica made any other motions. "My mother was a Mord'Sith under your temple roof, twenty five years ago. Before Lord Rahl called you out of your Eastern Temple to his Court. When you left, she ran from the temple, from the Sisterhood, and had a family. She bore my sister Laura first, followed by a son, followed by my sister Summer, and another son. I was the last born of her children. She chose to raise her daughters in the fashion of the Mord'Sith. Our father, Anthony, did not approve. So, when my sister Laura was in her training, and I was fairly newly born, our mother made her kill him to complete her training. Summer killed our oldest brother for her training. And, I killed the youngest brother to complete mine."

Danica half laughed, but kept her mouth shut. "So that's what happened to the bitch."

Jessica pulled the agiel from her hip, nearly faster than Danica could see. Threatening the older woman, "Don't you dare call my mother that!"

"And just where is your mother now, Jessica?"

The Mord'Sith frowned, easing her weapon back, "She died three weeks passed. Before she died, she told me to find Danica, the last of Master Rahl's Mord'Sith. So here I am."

"And why, besides your mother telling you to find me, did you come? What purpose and ends do you seek?"

"My mother was loyal to Darken Rahl, and therefore I serve him and his daughter. Richard Cypher was never my King, and Kahlan was never my Queen. Lady Rahl is my Mistress. And I hear that you need Mord'Sith to fill the temple. My sisters and I will serve you.", Jessica put her gloved right hand into a fist, laying it over her heart. She bowed her head to Danica.

The older Mord'Sith smirked, looking down her nose as the woman, her hands on her hips. "Than I accept."


End file.
